Just look at the enchanting rain!
Falling like a silver veil.
I wonder at the people who complain
at so beautiful a thing.
They push back curtains and only see
de-styled hair and wrecks
of plans—as if the earth were meant to be
the steward of our whims.
Of course, the conscientious ranks
will brave the puddled streets
to muster up obligatory thanks,
mindful of the crops.
What both groups claim for sight seems tragic,
blind to beauty that
in another world we might call magic—
water pouring from the air.